2.
The storm had raged for most of the morning, but as was common in this area of the planet, once it passed, it wasn't but a few minutes before that which had been soaked was dried by the warmth of the tropical sun. The steady breeze kept the high humidity at a bearable level, and short of the seaweed washed onto the white sands of the beaches, there was no evidence that any violent weather had made its way through the small island of Embudu.
Shepard stood inside the café, listening to the whirring of the mixer as he waited for his latte. His Panama hat rode low on his brow, disguising his eyes as he scanned the room casually. He saw several tourists lounging about, some Asari, some Turians, but mostly humans. All were in high spirits, bubbling about the charm and beauty of the village and the exquisite flavor of their respective gourmet drinks. Mixed in with the tourists were a handful of locals, and a few undesirables skulked about in futile attempts of blending in.
Jack appreciated that he was all but invisible to the crowd. He was a regular here, and the Salarian baristas knew him only by first name. Being greeted as 'Mr. Jack' instead of 'Commander Shepard' was much more comforting to him. His only fear was that one day a tourist may recognize him, even through the scraggly beard and low-tipped hat. When Ashley would be home on leave, she would disguise her appearance with a cap and sunglasses, although she turned many heads with her shapely figure that was barely contained in a light jacket over a bikini.
Shepard wasn't averse to the fame that he had earned; he wouldn't mind signing an autograph or taking a picture with a fan, even if he happened across Conrad Verner yet again. What the former commander wanted to avoid was those who would have a chip on their shoulder, wanting to test their mettle against the legendary Commander Shepard. His days of violence were behind him, and the best way to avoid confrontation was to maintain a low profile.
This wasn't a difficult task for one specialized in infiltration tactics.
"Mr. Jack… large caramel latte, double mocha with a shot of espresso. Same thing, every day," the Salarian barista said as he placed Jack's drink on the bar.
"Thanks, Jagal," Shepard said with a soft grin.
"Ever thought of branching out? Trying our other flavors? Countless combinations that would set your tastebuds on fire. Theoretically speaking, of course," Jagal said as Shepard sipped his latte.
"I've tried other flavors before; this just happens to be my favorite," Shepard replied, reaching into the pocket of his lightweight khaki pants and retrieving a few credit chits, placing them on the bar in front of Jagal. "When you find what it is that you truly desire, there's no reason to keep searching," he finished, a flash of his wife's smile passing through his mind's eye and warming him to his core.
With a nod, Shepard turned from the bar and meandered across the tile floor with a nonchalant gait, making his way through the open café doors and into the sand street. The cool breeze set his lightweight button-up into a steady flutter, however it wasn't strong enough to risk dislodging his hat, nor did it disturb the white granules of sand as he strolled along.
Shepard slightly increased the speed of his steps, knowing that he was being followed by a quartet of young humans. He had seen their gazes as he had casually scanned the café, and he had recognized their intent even before Jagal had presented him with his order. To ensure that they would be further baited, he'd made a show of the credit chits, whereas under normal circumstances he would have simply paid for his order via Jagal's data pad that was linked to Shepard's account.
"Damned kids," Shepard muttered as he ducked into an alley, wanting to be as much out of sight of witnesses as possible.
As the four young men entered the alley, they saw Shepard leaning with his back against a building's wall, casually sipping his latte.
"Afternoon, guys," he greeted, slowly lifting his head to show his amber eyes from beneath the brim of his Panama. "Something I can help you with?"
The tallest of the four scoffed. "Help us? You can start by emptying your pockets, pakaya," he spat.
Shepard chuckled lightly, and then took another sip of his latte. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"Your mother seems to like it," the apparent leader of the group retorted. "Now empty your pockets, and we may just let you live," he finished, pulling a pistol and cocking it.
The sight of the gun caused Shepard to grumble.
You did good, son… I'm… proud of you…
"Hey! Are you deaf, old man? He said empty your pockets!" shouted another of the four.
Shaking the flashback from his mind, he met the eyes of the leader. "It's almost the twenty-third century, and still there are thugs lurking about and mugging people." He slowly stood up from the wall, noticing that the quartet had fanned out into a semi-circle to contain him.
The leader was the only one with a gun; Shepard recognized it as an M-4 Shuriken, even with the poor condition and lack of maintenance the weapon was in. One of his muggers brandished a knife, while the other two held makeshift weapons from whatever they had picked up along their pursuit: a broken bottle and what appeared to be the handle of a broom.
"You can give it to us willingly," the leader said, stepping closer to Shepard and pressing the barrel of the Shuriken beneath the former commander's jaw, "or we can take it from your corpse."
"Just shoot the huththa," Knife urged.
"See, there's just a few problems with that," Shepard coolly began. "If you pull that trigger, it's going to go bang, right? Bang, rounds in my skull, ruining my awesome hat, and spattering blood all over you. I see you have no suppression modification, so the killing shot is going to echo off these walls. It'll most likely be heard a few streets over."
"So what? I don't care," the leader barked, pushing the barrel tighter against Shepard's neck.
"You may not care, but I guarantee the Police Service will care," Shepard continued. "Then there's the issue with my blood all over your face. At this close of range, my head will explode, and where do you think all my grey matter is going to go? Then there's the issue of our location. We're in an alley, sure, but what about when you leave? Hearing that shot, people are going to be curious and will be watching for anything coming out of here. Then you're going to have witnesses that reported a young punk running through the street with gore covering his body. It'll just be a matter of time before the Police Service picks you up, and you'll be lucky if all you get is prison time. Do you really want to go to prison over fifty credits?"
The leader glared into Shepard's eyes, mentally chewing on his words. "I won't go to prison… we'll be members of the Blue Suns. After we pass this initiation, we'll be taken off world and under their protection."
"Blue Suns? Here?" Shepard said while furrowing his brow in confusion. "Since when have the Blue Suns ventured this deep into Alliance territory?"
"I didn't ask, and I don't care; the batarian just said we had to pass this initiation and we'd be in. He didn't care how we did it, clean or messy…as long as we did it and brought him the proof," the leader said through clenched teeth.
"And you took the word of someone who's head looks like a pile of shit with ears and four eyes?" Shepard retorted.
"He's official…got the uniform and rank and everything. So yeah, I'm gonna take his word for it. Now give me the fucking chits, or I will splatter your brains through that ridiculous looking hat," the gunman ordered.
Shepard sighed. "You see, there's another problem you have in the current situation…you've pulled a gun on someone, at point blank range…and you didn't even take the safety off," Shepard said, sounding like a disappointed parent.
"What safety?" the leader asked, perplexed at Shepard's chastisement.
As the gunman turned his eyes to focus on the Shuriken, Shepard reached up and pushed the slide release, effectively disassembling the weapon and taking the receiver in his hand. The movement spurred the other three into action, and their leader futilely pulled the trigger on the dismantled gun.
Knife dashed in first, slashing at Shepard's face. The retired N7 easily parried the attack, striking Knife's wrist with the gunky receiver taken from the Shuriken. He continued the push of the parry, and with a spin, Shepard whirled around to the shrieking assailant's back. He immediately ducked into a crouch as the broom handle whiffed above his head, a solid crack of wood against bone resounding off the alley walls as the intended blow connected with the back of Knife's skull.
Shepard dropped the receiver to free up his left hand, and took a crunching grasp on Broom's wrist, just as Broken Bottle decided to enter the fray. With the enhancements he'd received upon being rebuilt, Shepard's grip was as strong as any vise. Holding firm against Broom's weapon hand, Shepard rotated his wrist to bring the makeshift weapon hard against Broken Bottle's thumb, halting the attempted strike with another loud pop that elicited a string of profanity in the native tongue of Dhivehi. Broken Bottle scrambled backward as he saw his weapon fall from his failed grasp, numbness setting in across his injured hand.
Jack tightened his grip, and Broom began to shout in pain as he felt the bones in his wrist begin to separate. Broom took a wild swing at Shepard with his left hand, only to be foiled by his own weapon as Shepard manipulated the assailant's hand to bring the broom handle up into the path of the punch.
"Just…stop," Shepard said as he slid his hand up to grab the broom handle and easily wrenched it from the injured thug's failed grasp. He tossed the splintered wood away from the immediate area, and casually took a sip of his latte, having held it the entire time of the assault.
"Come on, come on!" the leader growled, squatting to the alley's sand floor as he fought with the dismantled Shuriken, trying to secure the receiver as quickly as he could.
Shepard eased over to the leader, as two of the three muggers whimpered and held their broken hands. Knife was face down on the sand, the errant strike having connected solid and rendered him unconscious.
"Sorry, kid," Jack Shepard said with a shrug. "It's not going to work, even if you get it back together. There's sand in the track; it'll just jam on you. So just stop," he said, reaching into his pants pocket and retrieving a single credit chit as the would-be gunman glared up at him with sheer hatred.
"Here's a chit's worth of free advice… stay away from merc gangs. They'll only get you killed," Shepard said, tossing the credit chit to the ground in front of the squatting thug leader. Jack made a glance toward the trio of injured muggers. "Oh, and you might wanna get your buddies to a clinic," he added. "They sustained some pretty bad injuries, but nothing a change of life choices can't fix. Remember this, the next time you think it's a good idea to rob someone."
"Fuck you, wesi," the leader spat another slanderous and defiant phrase, embarrassed and trying to save face in front of his followers.
Shepard shook his head with a sigh. "I should go," he replied, and then tipped his hat before strolling out of the alley.
