MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR 2
*Episode Two*
The shotgun cracked and flared as it bucked in the turian's hand with horrific force.
Arlen was already moving. He released his grip on Lang's pistol and took a hold of his shirt instead, pulling him aside. A spread of lethal slugs slammed past them and into the restroom wall, shattering tiles and sending broken masonry in every direction. Arlen kept his head down and leapt behind the separating wall with a loud grunt, dragging the stupefied human with him.
Another shot came, hammering into the floor they'd trod only a heartbeat ago. Arlen brought his Carnifex up without hesitation and fired, catching a slight movement as the other turian ducked his head back behind the wall in time to avoid the return volley.
'What the hell?' Lang cried out as he cupped his hands over his head. 'Who the- What's going on?'
Arlen checked the heat sinks on his Carnifex and held it out again, the barrel hovering over the edge of the wall, watching for any sign of their attacker.
'Listen to me,' he replied, lowering his voice to a rasping whisper. 'Don't talk, just listen. The man we're facing has been following me ever since I arrived. I had to lure him here and take him down before I went after the assassin.'
'Assassin? Wha-'
'The assassin hired to kill Weyrloc Shuul. He's making his move and I need to stop him.' Arlen's gaze flickered to Lang. 'Do you still have your weapon?'
He felt Lang shuffle against him for a moment. 'Sh- No, I must've dropped it.'
Arlen ground his teeth together. 'All right, then. I'll have to do this alone. Stay down and don't move. Do exactly as I say and you'll live through this.'
Lang nodded quickly. 'You sure you don't need help?'
'You can help me by staying out of my way.'
Arlen clambered to his feet without lowering his pistol. Immediately he walked forward, firing as he went. The Carnifex was much heavier than anything C-Sec issued and it echoed deafeningly in the narrow space, its powerful rounds tearing chunks from the wall.
The barrel of his attacker's shotgun hovered hesitantly around the corner and Arlen focused on it as he closed the gap. When it moved up, he was ready.
The pale turian emerged, shotgun in hand and his eyes widened in surprise.
Arlen's hand swept out, the Carnifex lending the blow weight as it knocked the shotgun aside. It fired as it went, smashing into the floor and sending a flurry of stinging debris against Arlen's legs.
He ignored it as he followed with a left hook, hammering his fist into the turian's face with a grunt. He used the confusion to go for the shotgun, taking the barrel with his free hand and twisting it until it slipped from his opponent's grasp.
The turian growled in frustration and lashed out, swinging his armoured forearms to try and catch Arlen in the face. The blows would be devastating if they connected and Arlen knew it. He ducked each one, tossing aside the shotgun and sending it spinning across the floor with a kick.
Arlen moved back a couple of steps, keeping out of the turian's reach. He didn't raise the Carnifex, instead using it as an extension of his own fist and dull smacks filled the air, rising above the trickle of leaking water as his strikes connected.
He parried a clumsy lunge and the Carnifex snapped out, cracking against the turian's cheek. The man staggered and Arlen capitalised, gripping his armour by the collar and swinging him around into a nearby mirror with a sickening crash.
Glass shards fell from the wall, their edges lined with blue blood. Still the turian tried to resist, straightening with a furious roar. Arlen reacted instantly, buckling his foe's leg with a hard stomp and pulling down hard again on his collar, driving the turian's head into the sink. The porcelain splintered and at last, Arlen's assailant fell.
A bloody chunk had been taken out of the sink and Arlen stared at it a moment, panting. His muscles burned and he took shallow, hungry breaths but the suspect did not move.
He only became aware of Lang's presence when pieces of shattered tile and stone clinked at his back. Arlen turned slightly, unable to take his eyes fully from the unconscious turian at his feet.
'Are you okay?' he asked.
He sensed Lang's nod and the officer's reply seemed shaken but stable. 'That...that was awesome!'
Arlen frowned at the excitement in his voice, ignoring it as he motioned to Lang's belt. 'Give me your cuffs. We need to restrain him before he comes to.'
'I mean seriously,' Lang went on, seemingly oblivious to the command, 'I've never seen anything like that! You just...and he was like- Oh man, I don't believe what-'
'Save it,' Arlen snapped, suddenly annoyed. 'Do you have the cuffs or not?'
Lang finally complied, handing Arlen a pair of thick silver handcuffs. Even then, he could not stop himself from gushing. 'Man, you Interceptors are the real thing! That was totally wild! Hey, can you tell me where you learned to do that or is it top-secret Interceptor stuff?'
The giddy enthusiasm made Arlen wince as he tried to clamp the fallen turian's hands firmly behind his back. The armour suit made the task difficult however, and Arlen was forced to glance back at Lang.
'A little help here, please.'
Lang obliged and dropped to a knee beside Arlen. Together they bound the suspect securely and Arlen let out a tired breath through his teeth.
'What about Shuul?' Lang asked.
'He's in immediate danger,' Arlen replied brusquely, bringing up his Carnifex to inspect it for damage. 'As I said, I'm on the trail of the assassin hired to kill him, a turian named Serica Ronn. He's extremely dangerous, part of Zwei Jaeger's crew. You heard of them?'
A little of the colour drained from Lang's face. 'The Zwei Jaeger?'
Arlen nodded. 'Not his real name, obviously, but he's one of the most dangerous criminals in the galaxy. I've been chasing the bastard for nearly two months now and Serica Ronn is my best chance yet of getting to him. If I can corner Ronn, he'll lead me to Zwei.'
'Wow, this is...' Lang lowered his head, shaking it in disbelief. 'This is crazy. I thought this gig would be exciting enough but this...' He looked up sharply, his eyes filled with determination. 'Let me go with you, Arlen, I can help you catch Ronn!'
Arlen snorted. 'I appreciate the offer but you're out of your league. Ronn is a professional assassin. He'd kill you without a second thought. Besides...' He glanced down at the cuffed turian. 'I need you to keep an eye on him.'
Lang was undeterred. He leaned closer to Arlen, dropping his voice into a serious murmur. 'Come on, he ain't going anywhere. I can block Ronn's exit, warn the band, I can-'
A metallic clank interrupted him and with a surprised look, Lang held up his hand. It tugged sharply as Arlen secured it to the sink pipe, snapping the second pair of cuffs in place with ease.
Lang's lips hovered on the verge of speaking several words at once, and it took a visible effort to finally force them out. 'What the hell? You had a pair of cuffs this whole time?'
Arlen rose to his feet, a small grin tracing his lips. 'I told you, I need you here. Keep an eye on this guy, we'll need him for questioning.'
After a brief thought, Arlen crossed the restroom and picked up Lang's pistol. He offered it to the young human, grip-first.
'Just in case he wakes up before help arrives,' he explained.
'I... Just wait a sec!' Lang began haltingly, taking the gun while looking between Arlen and the suspect. 'Come on, you can't be serious! Is this because I tried to arrest you?'
Arlen checked himself over and made sure a round lay ready in the Carnifex's chamber before striding past Lang.
'Could be worse,' he muttered, nodding down at their unconscious suspect. 'At least you didn't try to kill me.'
The point was not lost on Lang as Arlen left him behind in the shattered remains of the restroom, cold water from the broken pipes pooling around him as he sat in mute misery.
~~~ME-I2~~~
The crowd bobbed and swayed beneath Serica like a pool of dark water. The noise was almost unbearable; a toxic mixture of mindless cheering and the drawling tones of Weyrloc Shuul that would surely have deafened Serica were it not for the plugs stuffed into his ear holes.
He hefted his rifle up onto the railing of a gantry that overlooked the entire area. The height was dizzying, and from it Serica could see everything. The band were tiny figures, barely visible in the glaring lights thrown off the stage but for those Serica had prepared. He took aim and pressed a button on the side of the scope, and his vision became a wash of blue and black.
Against the background, the bodies of Krannt appeared as solid shapes of orange and red, their heat signatures glowing brightly. Shuul's in particular was a massive blotch of colour that swam and blurred in the scope.
Serica grinned. It was too easy.
His finger curled around the trigger. It felt welcoming, charging his blood with adrenaline. The warm shapes before his eyes twitched and swayed as his target sang, completely unaware of the crosshair resting over his head.
'One round for the shell,' Serica murmured to himself, lost in the moment. 'Three more for the skull. Four rounds. Two by two. Just as he likes it.'
The human guitarist below squealed out a solo as a ring of searing red fire erupted around him, sending Serica's thermal optics into a frenzy. The turian pulled back, his teeth bared in frustration.
Krannt's guitars roared in a chorus every bit as deep and coarse as Shuul's vocals. Serica gripped the railing with one hand, feeling the vibrations through the metal.
But there was something else. Another spear of flame surged up from the stage and Serica felt that "something" grow stronger - a steady pounding. It was the gantry itself, moving.
He turned his head, too late.
A punch caught him cleanly in his right mandible, making him swear in shock. He spun, dropping the rifle on instinct and he brought his own hands up defensively.
He got a look at who'd intruded - a fellow turian dressed in a crumpled grey suit. It was soaking wet in places and torn in others. Serica knew immediately who this man was, and that the thug sent to kill him had failed. He should've known a C-Sec Interceptor would not make easy prey.
Another punch came and Serica turned it deftly, pivoting his hips as he struck back to lend the strike more force. Neither of them wore armour but Serica had fought bare-handed in Omega pits since he was a boy. He was tougher than a mere two-cred crook and he used his momentum to slink back out of the Interceptor's reach.
~~~ME-I2~~~
Arlen watched Ronn carefully as just a slight shift in the assassin's weight took him out of arm's length. It was a clever feint, inviting Arlen into an easy attack but he'd read it with an ease that came from years of constant practice.
The Dilinaga Concert Hall yawned about them in a dark, gaping bowl. More gantries and girders ran across the dome ceiling above, strewn with cables and fixtures. Lights flashed and flared in dozens of colours, pulsing in time with the music below.
Ronn straightened and his voice was only just audible as he snarled, 'I should've known C-Sec would send their best. Zwei's heard about you, but he doesn't realise the danger you pose yet, Kryik.'
'That's good to know,' Arlen replied evenly. He stood relaxed, ready to move in a heartbeat. 'I realised what a sick bastard he was months ago.'
He'd holstered the Carnifex for now, unwilling to risk drawing it even for a moment. A moment would be all it took for Ronn to disarm him. The assassin was dangerous and nothing could be left to chance. Arlen had relied on surprise to get this close and now all he could do was trust in his training. The smell of the crowd and sharp tang of spent pyrotechnics entered his senses. He sharpened them, focusing every instinct he had on Ronn.
'You look older than twenty,' Ronn said suddenly. 'Guess the stories about you aren't all bullshit.'
'You don't know a damn thing about me.'
'Zwei would say the same thing.'
Arlen frowned deeply and raised his fists, readying himself. 'What do you mean?'
Ronn fixed him with an ice-blue gaze, seemingly unaffected by the sense of danger in the air. The shifting light made the curved red patterns on his face twist convulsively. 'Zwei. He's one of a kind, that human. You got no idea what you're dealing with.''
'I know that you're all going to die in prison,' Arlen snapped. 'You, Zwei, the rest of your little gang.'
Ronn responded with a small grin, one of satisfaction. He barely seemed bothered now by his ruined assassination attempt. 'You're trying to catch anarchy itself, Kryik. Remember that.'
The final word was followed by a blur of movement. Thuds and scraps sounded, breaking above even Krannt's thrashing rhythms as arms clashed, throwing and parrying attacks with blinding speed. The gantry was little more than a narrow mesh walkway, giving neither man room to out-manoeuvre the other. All Arlen could do was shuffle back, giving Ronn space to move into.
The assassin's voice escaped in a grunt as he cleanly blocked a jab. 'This is it, huh? The deadly offspring of General Renius Kryik? I expected more.'
Arlen was not surprised by Ronn's remark. 'You've read my file.'
'Unlike Zwei, I make it a point to know as much as I can about the people I kill. It's only practical. I also know your brother died six months ago. Or did he? I'm guessing I know as much as you do.'
The speed of Arlen's strikes increased and he ground his teeth in anger. He did not give a reply - the furious intensity of his blows was answer enough. Ronn's head was sent back with a crack as an uppercut found his chin but he recovered quickly, even finding a way through Arlen's guard with a well-timed hook.
Arlen felt his cheek grow swollen and sore. His face glistened with small cuts he never realised he'd taken and still he pressed Ronn, forcing him back step by step.
'Is that why you're hunting Zwei so ruthlessly?' Ronn sneered. The calm had fled his voice at last to become a tone of seething malice. 'You think daddy and big brother will rest any easier, knowing you put us away?'
Arlen cried out in rage, hammering a punch into Ronn's body. The assassin's breath wheezed from between pursed lips, only to turn into a growl. Ronn twisted and snapped his arm down onto Arlen's, trapping it. He didn't use his free hand to punch, instead taking a grip on Arlen's suit, pushing as he moved a leg in place behind him.
Arlen's eyes widened as he lost his balance. The world moved by in a blur as he was forced back over the gantry railing, Ronn's hand clamped firmly over his throat. Arlen choked and his terrified eyes passed over the crowd far below, churning his stomach.
'When you hit the ground there'll be nothing left,' Ronn hissed into his ear. 'I won't have long to take my shot but that's half the fun. Zwei taught me that.'
Arlen's eyes met his, suddenly calm despite his situation. 'Did he teach you how to close your eyes?'
Ronn's features slackened in confusion. It was all the hesitation Arlen needed.
'Petra, now!' he shouted. An omni-tool burst to life on his right arm in response.
Ronn stumbled as a dozen spotlights turned on, focused solely on him. Each one was automated and bright enough to light the stage on its own, and together they burned like a sun, forcing Ronn back. He clutched his eyes, crying out in pain and Arlen was on him in an instant.
The lights died out as Arlen crashed into Ronn, tackling him to the ground. The gantry tilted dangerously and rang with metallic clangs as the turians struggled but it was no contest with Ronn frantically trying to clutch at his eyes.
Ronn was forced onto his stomach and Arlen pressed a knee into his back as he finally drew the Carnifex. He pushed it into the back of Ronn's head and flexed his mandibles in an attempt to shake off some of the lingering pain.
'Serica Ronn,' he announced clearly, 'you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of Citadel law and you can bet your ass I'll make sure they do just that. It's over for you.'
Ronn made no sound beyond a hoarse cough as Arlen reached up to a covert communicator hidden just behind his left ear.
'Captain, it's Agent Kryik. We have Ronn, repeat, we have Ronn. Have Special Response move in to take him into custody.'
The voice of Captain Avrix Ferrata filled his head with its gruff turian tones. 'What the hell are you doing, Kryik? You were supposed to stand down and let SRT handle this from the start! And why can't you bring him in yourself? Where are your cuffs?'
Arlen glanced back guiltily over his shoulder. 'It's a long story, Sir. I'll explain later.'
The line clicked as Avrix cleared his throat. 'I'm not happy about this, Agent Kryik. Report to my office for a debriefing when you're all done there. We need to discuss your definition of the word "orders".'
'Yes, Sir.'
Arlen closed the line and let out a breath of relief, Avrix's apparent anger having not even registered in his mind. Beyond the wall of sensation that was only just beginning to loosen its grip on him, Krannt's signature song played out to the jubilant fans. The stage lights turned a pale, sky-blue and they swept upwards in a wave, enveloping Arlen and Ronn.
Arlen shut his eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the respite. He knew that as soon as the song ended, the real world would come crashing back in on him once again.
~~~ME-I2~~~
'I think we've got it!'
Lina and Lorica heard Kimberley's shout and it didn't take them long to reach the analyst's desk. Kimberley herself stood beside Deveraux, leaning over him slightly to read from his terminal monitor.
'Patrol seized seventeen names during their bust,' she said aloud. 'Seventeen identities, each with their own legal documentation and DNA profiles, everything an illegal entrant to the Citadel needs. Only one of those comes close to being batarian and - oh, look - it even comes with phoney diplomatic credentials!'
Lorica spoke as she settled next to Deveraux's other shoulder. 'And with Hegemony ambassadors and their staff being the only batarians allowed anywhere near the Citadel, it shouldn't take long to track him down. Who's our lucky customer?'
'Molach. Urqar Molach.'
Despite the coloured glass hiding her features, no one could have missed Lina's pleased grin. 'Good work, all of you. Cross-reference the name with customs, see if he's checked in.'
'Way ahead of you, Commander,' the salarian Ket replied instantly, turning to hold up a datapad. 'Here's everything we have on our illustrious Mister Molach. The short version is he entered the Citadel forty-eight hours ago on 'diplomatic business'. C-Sec tracks all batarians as a matter of course.'
'As they do quarians,' Lina pointed out under her breath.
After an uncertain pause, Ket went on. 'I sent out the word to those wannabe private eyes over in Investigation and they just gave us Molach's location. They've got an undercover agent tailing him as we speak.'
'That was quick,' Lorica said, surprised.
Ket's bulbous head nodded. 'A rather fortunate result of the Council's initiative to have all residents spy on everyone they see after the geth hit us. Enforcement got an anonymous suspicious person report within an hour of Molach's arrival and Investigation obliged. A pity their feeble little minds couldn't conceive that we might have found this information useful earlier, but at least it's something.'
Lina clenched a fist by her side in a private show of victory. They were almost there.
'Where is he now?' Lorica asked.
Kimberley straightened and gestured to Deveraux's monitor, which was filled with open windows containing everything from vid feeds to raw data files. The young man looked up at Lina and grinned shyly as he pushed up his glasses.
'The Silver Coast casino, over in Zakera,' he told her. 'Owned by one Elijah Khan, a human entrepreneur and suspected arms dealer, though C-Sec have never been able to gather enough evidence to secure a conviction.'
Lina folded her arms, deep in thought. 'Interesting. Could this be Molach's target? It's human-run, like all the others and I doubt a man like Khan would be in Crimson Fist's good graces.'
Deveraux's lips twisted with doubt and he scratched the back of his neck. 'Hard to say, really. It's funny how many terrorist groups are willing to slacken off their ideals in the name of pragmatism. Crimson Fist are no different. In fact, they've been known to work with human weapons dealers, even mercenaries and slavers to achieve their goals.'
'Khan is a gun runner, maybe he's going to equip them for their next attack?' Kim put forward.
To her obvious irritation, Ket turned around and interjected in his supercilious tone, 'Oh yes, I'm sure a respectable casino owner would be more than happy to to invite one of the galaxy's most obvious and untrustworthy individuals to his own private abode!'
He held up a skinny finger. 'And, of course, the most obvious point; the Silver Coast resides at the far end of Zakera Ward. If a bomb went off there, it'd claim a few lives, certainly but it wouldn't do any permanent damage to the station itself. Any knuckle-dragging thug with half a brain cell would go for vital systems, something that would cause destruction and death beyond the capabilities of the bomb itself.'
'The Silver Coast is a high-class joint,' Kimberley sneered at him. 'It's filled with celebrities, politicians, pretty much everyone on the Citadel's rich list. You don't think they'd make a viable target?'
Ket shook his head and turned back to his own terminal. 'Viable to an idiot, perhaps. Of course, since you're an example of the knuckle-dragging variety I mentioned, I should expect no better.'
Lorica gave Kimberley a warning glance before she could reply and spoke to cover the insult. 'We don't know anything about Molach's target yet and until we've ascertained whether or not he actually has the bomb in his possession to begin with, guesswork will get us nowhere.'
'Exactly,' Lina agreed. 'Kim, get on the line with Investigation and make sure they keep their distance until we have a visual confirmation of that bomb.'
Kimberley moved to her desk immediately and started keying commands into her terminal.
Lina turned to Deveraux next. 'Mike, I need you to cover your tracks in Patrol's networks. We can't allow anything that could lead a breach of C-Sec's systems back to us, understood?'
Deveraux nodded and set to work, the immediacy of his keystrokes giving Lina a rare sense of assurance. She tried to maintain it as finally, she addressed Ket.
'Ket, I want you to monitor the other divisions and maintain a little coordination. I don't want Enforcement and Investigation stepping on one another's toes, not with the stakes so high, so don't hesitate to kick it up to Lorica if anyone gives you trouble.'
The salarian clearly looked on the idea of referring his work to anyone with distaste but Lina was glad to see him swallow those feelings as he answered. 'Very well, Commander, I'll try and choreograph this little dance as best I can.'
Nothing would have given Lina more pleasure, not to mention peace of mind, than to supervise the whole operation herself but such a thing was no longer possible. Delegation had been the hardest lesson for her to learn in the past year and even now, Lorica sometimes had to remind her to let go of the smaller tasks and remain focused on the bigger picture.
At that, Lina gave a quick, silent glance at her asari friend. Lorica had been with her through the worst of the Forgotten Legion crisis, and had even been accused of being a traitor during that time. That they had remained friends at all after those terrible days was a wonder, and they'd both found strength in one another since.
Lorica joined Lina as she made her way back to the central command dais and synced her omni-tool with the main computer banks, receiving a glut of new information in seconds.
'I'll have Drayen and the others pull up a complete surveillance history for Molach,' the asari said, bringing out her own omni-tool. 'With luck, we'll have all our questions answered before we move in.'
'With luck,' Lina echoed, though despite her customary doubt, she could only feel satisfaction at the team's progress. Their batarian terrorist had been found. It was only a matter of time until he led them to the bomb and to the beginning of Crimson Fist's demise.
~~~ME-I2~~~
The Silver Coast casino was busy that evening. Asari draped in the finest silks mingled with elcor dignitaries, while humans laughed and chattered among salarians and turians. Many more trickled up the entrance ramp from the Silversun Strip, a neon-lit paradise of arcades, stores and high rise apartments. It was a place for the wealthy of all species to waste vast sums of credits the likes of which normal citizens of the Citadel could only dream, and they did so with smiles and shrugs.
Settled amidst the writhing mass of bodies and voices, a batarian sat alone at the upstairs bar, nursing a single glass of murky brown liquor in between murderous glances at the dance floor behind him. He was short and ugly, with a wide head spackled with patches of yellow skin. Even those aliens curious at the rare presence of a batarian on the Citadel averted their attention, and there was a chair left empty at either side of him despite the growing crowd.
Molach sniffed and his eyes shifted from side to side, regarding them all with barely concealed disgust. Behind its sleek lines and expensive trappings, the Silver Coast was still just another den of temptation, its patrons no different to those of any Quasar pit in the lower Wards. A playground for the spoiled and the ignorant.
'You don't look like an ambassador,' spoke a sly, and unmistakably turian voice.
Molach looked to see his contact sit down beside him, a light skinned and long-fringed turian dressed well in a suit of blue and silver. Molach gave him a stiff nod in greeting and took a sip of his drink.
'And you were supposed to be here half an hour ago,' he murmured. 'I don't like being kept waiting.'
The turian shifted on his barstool and shrugged. 'The traffic in this part of Zakera is terrible and I wasn't about to start driving like an idiot, considering...'
Molach looked at the man again, catching his meaning. His eyes drifted down to where a thin silver briefcase had been propped against the base of the turian's seat.
So innocuous, he thought to himself, unable to contain a small grin. If only these pampered harlots knew...
His amusement lasted only a moment before he slipped on his grim mask once again.
'I trust that is the device?' he asked. 'It's smaller than I expected.'
'Well, that all depends,' the turian smirked, his eyes flickering to the bar. 'Don't I at least get a drink for my trouble?'
Molach's expression turned sour and he reluctantly obliged, signalling the bartender with a curt gesture.
The turian smiled openly. 'A whiskey if you please, straight up.'
The bartender set to work immediately, pouring a shot of luminous blue dextro-whiskey into a red-rimmed glass.
'There, you have your damn whiskey,' Molach muttered as the drink was served. 'Now answer my question. Is that what I was sent here for?'
The turian drained his glass in a single, short gulp. The drink seemed to invigorate him, and his eyes burned with enthusiasm as he smiled at Molach.
'It's everything Sarn wanted and more. You don't want to know how we got a hold of it. All I ask is that you let me get a safe distance away before you decide to use it, all right? No less than thirty minutes.' He nudged the case very slowly, very carefully, over to rest on Molach's stool. He lowered his voice and leaned over to murmur into the batarian's ear, 'Enjoy, my friend. Not a security scanner in the galaxy is gonna pick that up. Just remember: don't open it till it's time. Once it's open, that's it.'
Molach bobbed his head, suddenly unable to speak for the awe he felt. At his feet lay the key to his people's future, the mighty sword with which they would strike back at their foes. All that was left was to get it back to Sarn. An hour was all that stood between Crimson Fist and the sorrow of the Council.
As the turian slipped off his seat and made his exit, Molach hefted the briefcase onto the bar counter. It bore no marks, no insignia, nothing to show any sort of worth beyond its austere metallic lines but Molach gazed upon it as if it were the most precious thing in the galaxy.
'Under the sun of my homeworld I swore my oath,' he whispered, caressing the case reverently. 'Like my brothers before me, I will erase the enemies of the batarian race from existence. It is time.'
~~~ME-I2~~~
Zwei's hands convulsed at his sides as he stood in line to get into the Silver Coast casino, drawing hard lines in the stringy muscles of his forearms with each motion. Every few moments saw him grasp the seams of his white trouser legs, gripping them between two fingers and twisting them slightly in sharp, jerking movements.
They were hidden by his asari companions, who hung themselves from each shoulder, smiling and laughing at every lustful comment spoken or shouted at them over the heads of the crowd. Both were dressed in exquisite and revealing gowns of purple satin, and each wore a silver choker set with a single, glittering ruby. The painted red and pink lines on their faces were still present though slightly rough, having been reapplied in a hurry on the way there.
In spite of his impatience, Zwei smiled hungrily at them, though it was not simple physical desire that made him do so. Only such objects of beauty could distract the crowd from the four people immediately behind him.
He risked a quick turn of his head, to ensure they were all close. To anyone else they would be inconspicuous; an asari, a male human and turians of both sexes, all Council races and all dressed for a night of gambling and drinking. Zwei's eyes passed over them all in turn and each acknowledged him with a slow, subtle dip of their heads.
The asari in particular held his gaze for what seemed like an age, her gleaming eyes narrowing a fraction in what Zwei knew was anger.
Naraya T'Sora was utterly unlike the asari who clung to him. Zwei had picked those two for pleasure but Naraya was something else entirely. Where the other pair were soft and sleek, Naraya was harsh, her features like hammered steel. There was no mercy in her cold, empty eyes and yet Zwei's lips quirked playfully, silently taunting her until she looked away.
His spirits lifted, Zwei turned back to the casino's entrance as the line finally shifted forward.
Four large bouncers - a human, a turian and two elcor - faced him, standing against the light of the casino beyond like a living wall. They were each garbed in expensive black suits and wore equally extravagant smiles as they clapped eyes on Zwei's asari companions.
One of the elcor took a step forward, black eyes shifting as it regarded Zwei. 'Pleased greeting; welcome to the Silver Coast, sir,' it rumbled. 'Please enjoy your evening and remember, a portion of the house's winnings tonight will go to the Zakera orphan's fund.'
Zwei laughed sharply and raised his eyebrows. 'Orphans, eh?'
The bouncer moved its weight from one massive foreleg to another. 'Politely, yes. Victims of the geth attack six months ago. The Silver Coast casino is delighted to assist the Council in helping to rebuild Zakera Ward and provide for its disadvantaged citizens.'
'Oh?' Zwei replied curiously before turning to his crew. 'You hear that, you lot? This is all for a good cause!'
The bouncers shared confused looks for a moment, a sight that made Zwei's grin widen.
Someone screamed behind him. Perhaps they'd seen the weapons his crew were carrying, but it didn't matter. He pushed his asari mistresses aside roughly and brought up the pair of Shuriken machine pistols that had been concealed in holsters on Zwei's back until that moment.
The bouncers stared at Zwei in mute shock and he relished that single, lingering instant before the chaos commenced.
Gunfire snapped through the air, white flashes illuminating the walls and terrified faces of those around him. Bodies fell bleeding, eyes already glazing over and around Zwei, his crew clustered eagerly, their own weapons drawn.
'Hands up, bitch!' Naraya yelled at his side as she pressed a shotgun into the face of a weeping human woman, a socialite dressed in a glittering blue dress. The woman's arms trembled as she held them up, and the shotgun's barrel tilted as Naraya motioned to the casino's entrance. 'Get inside, all of you! Now!'
Zwei allowed the hostages to flow past him as he revelled in their terror. They stepped over the bodies of the four bouncers, now bloody heaps on the ground. He ejected the glowing thermal clips from the Shurikens and the sound of them hitting the floor was more piercing than anything else coursing through his senses at that moment.
As the other three members of the crew herded the hostages inside, Naraya remained behind. She approached Zwei confidently, her hips swaying with a sensuality that belied the hardness of moments ago and for the first time since the fun began, Zwei blinked.
His eyes fixed upon Naraya, and on the finger that still lay on the trigger of her shotgun.
Without warning, Naraya strode up to Zwei and kissed him deeply and forcefully, ignoring the screams of horror coming from within the casino. The corners of Zwei's mouth curled up in pleasure and he ran the barrel of one of his weapons down Naraya's back, making her shudder.
Suddenly, their lips parted and Naraya frowned as she pushed his arm away. 'Not now. You have guests to greet.'
Zwei bared his teeth and growled, 'Ah, playing the host...such a pain in the arse.'
Naraya broke her stone-cast facade to smile, the expression so small it was almost invisible, and her gaze wandered past Zwei to the asari he'd brought along. They clearly hadn't expected the evening to turn out the way it had and they could only stand there, motionless with fear.
'Are you done with them?' Naraya asked.
Zwei chuckled. Naraya had always been the jealous type.
'They're all yours,' he replied.
Zwei made his way into the casino as Naraya primed her shotgun and he laughed aloud as his companions' screams were abruptly silenced, the gunshots merely adding to the symphony of fear and panic that tore through the Silversun Strip.
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