Chapter 8: Heresy Begets Retribution
"Councilor, please, I must insist…" the functionary pleaded to him for what felt like the hundredth time over the course of the last five minutes.
"No," Sparatus said in return, doing his best not to rub his forehead in exasperation. "I have already made my decision. I am staying here on the Citadel."
As the functionary turned and exited the panic room, Sparatus gave into the temptation and groaned in frustration. "Any luck?" he asked as he turned to look at Valern where he sat on the other side of the room.
"If you are referring to finding the Captain, then C-Sec and the STG have been tracking him for the past ten minutes, not long after he exited Udina's office. However, if you're referring to apprehending him, then I'm afraid you will have to settle for disappointment. The Executor is refusing to send any of his men after the Captain."
"How can he do that?" Tevos demanded indignantly from where she was pacing the length of the room. "It's his job to ensure the safety of the Citadel!"
"The good Executor has also seen the recordings from Tuchanka," the Salarian responded drily. "As a result, he's less than keen on sending his men on a suicide mission."
Sparatus felt his mandibles flare at the statement before finding himself agreeing with the Executor's judgment. Another way of dealing with Udina's murderer would present itself, they just needed to wait.
"A Councilor murdered in his office, and here we are, doing nothing," Tevos grumbled as she resumed her tense pacing. "It's unheard of."
"I'm more concerned with the why in this situation," Valern said as he looked back at his datapad.
"Of course you are," Sparatus muttered before speaking louder. "What do you mean?"
"The STG had been…observing Udina for some time now," Valern said in reply. "As a result, I suspect that Udina acted to convince the Captain to change his allegiance, to which the Captain responded violently, as we discovered."
"'Change his allegiance'?" Sparatus asked disbelievingly. "To what side? The Reapers? Are you suggesting that the human Councilor was indoctrinated? We would have noticed if he had been!"
"No," Valern said firmly. "Not the Reapers. Cerberus."
Sparatus stopped himself before he could tell Valern how ridiculous he was sounding right now. Sure, Udina could be abrasive and self-serving at times, but at the end of the day he was still dedicated to humanity. But could the occupation of his homeworld have pushed him over the edge to form a desperate alliance with the shadowy organization?
"It's plausible," he said slowly, still trying to work out his line of reasoning in his head. "Cerberus is a pro-human movement, and we all saw how the Captain reacted to us. But if these Space Marines are also pro-human, vehemently so given how they acted, why would he kill Udina?"
"I don't know Sparatus," Valern confessed as he finally looked up from his datapad to look his Turian counterpart in the eye. "The only person who can tell us that is currently making his way back towards the landing pad that he arrived on, along with his men."
Silence permeated the room as they considered the prospect of one of their fellows being a traitor, and the new possibilities that would be presented by such potential reality.
Tevos was the first to speak. "We could use this to our advantage," she said. "Even if Udina truly was a Cerberus agent, we can still force the Marines to give up parts of their technology as a punishment for killing a Councilor. No one need know the whole truth of the affair."
"Devious, Tevos," Valern said, his tone a mixture of wariness and praise. "We would still need to bring the Captain back here to present our demands, however."
"Could we use the CDF to prevent their departure?" Sparatus asked.
Tevos shook her head in the negative. "Udina ordered the majority of it, including the Destiny Ascension, away towards the relay. He claimed that there was the potential for a Reaper incursion. All that remains around the Citadel is only a token force, and it would take hours for the ships to return even if we recalled them now."
"We could close the arms," Valern mused. "Declare a state of emergency and keep them locked in until the fleet returns."
"You're assuming that they'll be so courteous as to remain still long enough for the arms to close, Valern," Sparatus said. "They'd also most likely interpret that as an act of aggression. No, we're not closing the arms."
"Then what would you suggest Sparatus?" the Salarian asked in exasperation. "I fail to see you offering up any suggestions here."
"I don't know Valern," he snapped in return. "All I can say is that what you're suggesting is simply unfeasible."
Before Valern could retort, a functionary burst through the door to the panic, barely avoiding bashing his head on the still-opening metal slabs as he did.
"What is it now Gratius?" he snarled, his frustration at the interruption, at Valern, at the Space Marine Captain, and at the state of the entire galaxy all bubbling up and over at the same time.
"Councilor," Gratius gasped even as he fought to regain some semblance of breath in his lungs. "Long-range scanners picked up a number of unidentified vessels heading towards the Citadel right before they started going haywire. Their profiles don't match anything we've seen before."
The trio of politicians turned and looked at each other for one long moment. "It looks like you were correct then Valern," Tevos said, breaking the silence.
"And I wish for once that I wasn't," Valern said in reply.
"Shipmaster!" came the shout from one of the command deck's orderlies, Carvan Hetimal if Davriel remembered correctly.
"What?" he asked irritably in reply. This xeno station was wearing on his nerves and faith. Constant watching for treachery that was either not forthcoming or so well-hidden that he was incapable of seeing, combined with the fact that this so-called "Citadel" was the heart of a galaxy-wide xenos dominion ground on him mentally, and part of him wished that the negotiations between the Captain and their leaders would fail so that he could tear it apart with a command. Unfortunately, no such order had visited his ears, and so he sat and watched some more.
"Auspex scans are showing a number of vessels on a course towards us and the station, counting sixteen in total," Carvan said as he continued to stare at his station, eyes never leaving the instrument board.
"An ambush?" he asked, not even bothering to hide his eagerness at the notion.
"Perhaps not lord," was the reply. "Signatures don't match the known xeno ship types. If anything, they resemble the ones we saw above Benning."
Davriel scowled fiercely at the revelation. Cerberus then. Fighting fellow humans that were not aligned with the Great Enemy was something he hated. Too many moral ambiguities present for his taste. Fighting fellow humans above an alien-controlled space station?
The Shipmaster shook his head at the thoughts. Humans they might be, but he had read the reports that Nemros had sent him from the Apothecarium. Tech-heresy was something he poorly understood at the best of times, but still abhorred. If these traitors had given themselves up unto machines derived from Abominable Intelligences, then he would destroy them without mercy.
"Time until they're in range?" he asked, banishing his doubts from his mind. Hesitation had no place within a servant of the Emperor.
"Five minutes lord," said another orderly, this one from a recessed alcove on the far left side of the deck. "Possibly seven or eight if they continue to hide. The enemy fleet is using the arms of the station to cover their approach, the cowards."
"Lord, three of the vessels are breaking off their approach vector and moving towards the station ring. The rest are continuing towards us," Carvan added to his fellow orderly's report.
Davriel simply grunted in response. A curious tactic. Could Cerberus be trying to capture the station for themselves, or did they have another motive in mind? He shook his head, disregarding the thought. What mattered was the upcoming battle. This galaxy needed to learn the no one dared to strike at the Emperor's Adeptus Astartes with impunity. "Bring us to combat readiness state," he said as he depressed a series of runes that were placed within the arms of his throne.
"Captain Nemros," he spoke into the vox set embedded within the command throne, even as the command deck came to life around him as orderlies and officers alike began to prepare to offer battle.
"What is it Shipmaster?" came the mechanical tones of the Captain a few seconds later.
"Cerberus vessels inbound to both the Shadow and the xeno station. I am preparing to engage the majority, but that will mean that you will be on your own down there," he reported. Humming cables and pulsing machinery began to detach from the command throne and interface with ports embedded within his back, ready to relay his commands to the crew with naught more than a thought.
"Very well Shipmaster. I'm having Thunderhawk One return to the ship. Tell Devastator Squad Epsilon and Squadron Theta to embark for the station and meet at my position."
"Very good Captain," Davriel said before terminating the link and sending the appropriate commands to the earmarked Space Marines. Turning his gaze back towards the viewport and the near-invisible dots that made up the Cerberus fleet, he allowed a small smile to split his face at the thought of the upcoming battle. It only been a few days since the Shadow had last seen combat, but to him, it felt like a thousand years.
"Void shields to sixty percent, engines to flank speed," he ordered, feeling the usually-placid machine spirit that dwelled within the Shadow eagerly rousing for war at his words. Whatever frustration he had felt mere minutes before had disappeared. This galaxy would learn that they were not its playthings.
"You are certain?" Xeras asked him, the roar of Thunderhawk One's mighty engines fading as it made its way back towards the Duty's Shadow, leaving the pair of them alone on the landing pad while Vargus and Thram's squad kept a watch on the nervous xenos standing a ways off.
"I am confident of it Brother," Nemros said in response. "The way he spoke gave it away. The absolute confidence which filled him when he described to me his plans regarding the Abominable Intelligences that run amok in this galaxy… he was little more than a glorified heretek, determined to exploit forbidden technology for his own ends."
"Say no more Captain," Xeras said, holding up one massive hand as he did. "Though I find myself grievously disappointed. Not in your actions, but in his. Had this Illusive Man not chosen to walk the path that he has, he could have been a powerful ally in our crusade. Now we find ourselves truly alone in this heretical galaxy."
"Indeed," he sighed. "Now it seems that he is determined to claim what he believes is his regardless, if the timing of this attack is any indicator."
"Or he could have hoped to utilize us as another tool with which to take over this station," the Fifth Company's Chaplain suggested, gesturing towards the buildings that towered above them.
"Perhaps," Nemros assented. "Nevertheless, we shall break them as we broke them on Benning."
"Search and destroy, Captain?" Vargus asked as he left his position to make his way over to join the two of them.
"Indeed, Davriel will destroy the ships in orbit, while we deal with the forces that they land here. Afterwards, I will have the Shipmaster have the rest of our Brothers board the remaining ships so that Manswell can retrieve whatever he can from their cogitators."
A rumble of agreement erupted from Xeras. "This battle will allow our Brothers to adjust to how warfare is truly fought here as well. Benning and Tuchanka were no challenge to them, and I fear that they may become overconfident, fatally so perhaps."
"We will be on our own," Vargus concurred. "Outnumbered by huge margins with the enemy aiming for us specifically. It will be reminiscent of our battles against the mortal servants of the Primordial Annihilator."
"You do not think these xenos will be of any use in this Vargus?" Nemros asked, even though he silently agreed with the Epistolary's assessment.
"I do not underestimate them, if that is what you are asking Brother. But all that I saw here were off duty soldiers and the equivalent of the Arbites. Even less so, given the primitive state of their equipment. Benning was no test of our skill, but even unprepared Cerberus was still more dangerous than the inhabitants of this station will ever be."
"Captain, Thunderhawk One is returning to the station. The three Cerberus vessels are taking up positions for deployment as well, and we have engaged the rest," came the voice of Davriel over their vox frequency. Vargus and Xeras took this as their cue to rejoin Sergeant Thram and his squad, leaving Nemros alone.
"Your impressions so far Shipmaster?" Nemros asked even as his augmented hearing, enhanced further by the sensor suite embedded within his helmet, picked up the faint whining of Thunderhawk One's engines in the distance.
"They fight like Orks, crudely and single-mindedly, and are even more primitive than the greenskins. They are no match for the Shadow's weaponry, and their cannons barely scratch our void shields."
"Excellent Shipmaster," he said as he watched a faint flare of light erupt into the void of space far beyond the remote bulk of the Shadow, indicating that Davriel had cleansed the galaxy of another group of traitors. "Keep up the assault, leave none alive."
With that he closed the vox channel, leaving him with a brief moment with which to contemplate that fleeting flash of light. Someday soon, he swore, there would be a great deal more of those. Turning away from the sight, he Nemros could see gunships and various other craft bearing the insignia of Cerberus enter the atmosphere of the station and begin making their way towards their position. He opened another vox channel to his Brothers that were disembarking from Thunderhawk One and waiting at the opposite end of the landing platform, watching a pair of bulky machines detach from the gunship as he did.
"Brothers, the time for retribution is at hand. Let us show these traitors what it truly means to rouse the implacable wrath of the Emperor!"
If Carl Seman had still been fully capable of acknowledging the emotion, he would have sworn in frustration as the Kodiak he and his squad were sitting in rocked and jostled about. Had it not been for the seat harness restraining him, he was certain he would have been strewn apart the interior of the craft in numerous broken pieces by this point.
But he could not remember the last time that he had felt true emotion. Rogue thoughts snuck through his mind, silently attempting to harken back to days that seemed to be covered in a perpetual heavy fog, before being inevitably discovered and squashed by the alien circuitry that comprised most of his brain these days. The last thing he could faintly remember now was a decision – was it one that he had made, or had somebody else? – of going to Sanctuary, and after that, waking up in a Cerberus facility. Ever since then his life had consisted of simply obeying orders. Obeying was easy. Painless. Thinking was resistance. The voices did not like him thinking. Yet some tiny fraction of him persisted.
"Listen up," came the flat tone of his squad's Centurion. Carl looked over at the man sitting next to him, as did the rest of his squad. The Centurion had never mentioned his name – did he even remember it? Did anyone else remember theirs?
Another flash of disapproval. Another burst of pain. But Carl did his best to ignore the sensation, used to such things by this point as he was.
"Our fighters have drawn off their gunships for now, and the admiral wants us to board that ship. The objective is to land in the designated hangar and make our way to the bridge, neutralize any resistance on the way. Intelligence claims that there's only a handful of those Marines on the ship, so we should be able to overwhelm them without too much trouble. Keep your damn heads down and on your shoulders, and you'll be fine," the Centurion continued, ignorant to Carl's thoughts.
"Yes sir," Carl and the other troopers responded in unison, their voices just as monotone as the Centurion's, before the Kodiak was thrown around once more.
"Fucking hell," came the voice of the pilot over the com network, "There point defenses are murder. We just lost eighth and twenty-second squads!"
"Just get us on that ship," came the voice of the Centurion in reply, as if the news of the slaughter was no more exciting to him than retelling what he had had for breakfast that day.
"Yes sir."
Seconds ticked past, turning into minutes as the pilot twisted and turned the Kodiak, desperately evading as best as he could, before the UT-47 slammed violently into the hangar of the ship, all thoughts of a graceful landing thrown to the wind in the name of survival. Carl ripped the safety harness off, ignoring the handful of forms that remained motionless in their seats as he did. The only thing that mattered now was surviving, and surviving meant making his way out of the twisted wreck that the Kodiak had been reduced to.
"Go, go!" shouted the Centurion, sending a canister of smoke arcing out of the UT-47's door to cover their exit.
Carl slammed himself into the door, which had been partially torn off in the landing, leaving just enough space for one man to slip out through at a time. Squeezing his bulky trooper armor into the gap, he emerged in time to see the man in front of him collapse to his knees, grasping at his neck. Reaching out, he threw the man to the side, revealing a charred and cauterized hole where the other trooper's throat had been only moments ago. Carl kept moving on, heading towards what little cover was available inside the vast space. There was nothing else he could do for the man, save perhaps put him out of his misery.
To his left, another trooper's knee exploded in a cloud of crimson, sending the man tumbling to the ground with a scream of pain. A flash of red followed a second later, lancing through his helmet and silencing him forever. In retaliation, Carl raised his Mattock and snapped off a pair of rounds towards the direction from which the shot had come from before diving down beneath an abandoned metal crate.
Peering around the edge of the crate, he was shocked to see just who was shooting at him. These were no giants with guns capable of tearing through even the thickest of armor with ease. The distant forms sending red arcs of light speeding his and his comrades' direction appeared to be nothing more than normal, unaugmented humans. Raising his rifle to his shoulder once more and taking careful aim, he fired again, this time sending one of the humans to the ground in a spray of red blood.
All around him, Carl's fellow troopers and their Centurions were doing likewise. Emboldened by the lack of any of the massive soldiers about which they had heard so many horror stories from the few survivors from Benning amongst their ranks, they sent a hail of mass accelerator rounds speeding across the hangar, heedless of the casualties they suffered in response for their impudence. After a few minutes, the remaining defenders fell back from the hangar, leaving a score of their own behind, while in return the remaining Cerberus troopers were forced to step over dozens of their own in order to reach the exit that their enemies had used.
"What the hell kind of weapons were those?" a trooper to the right of Carl asked. Francis, if he remembered correctly.
"Unknown," came the response of the Centurion. He had been one of the few squad leaders to survive the firefight, and a faint part of Carl feared how the rest of them would fare if they still had numerous kilometers to go in order to reach their objectives.
"Huh," another trooper muttered as he turned over one of the corpses. "Just normal humans," he said, confirming Carl's earlier supposition. "Think this is what they look like outside of their armor?"
"Doesn't matter," Carl said. "If so, then I'm just thankful they weren't in their suits."
"Enough," said the Centurion curtly. "Squads three, nine, and eleven on me. We're pushing towards the bridge. Squads two, six, seven, and seventeen, follow mission parameters. Head for engineering. The rest of you stay here, fix up what Kodiaks you can."
"Sir!" came the reply. Carl, however, bent over to push one of the corpses away from a boxy object. As he picked it up, a cursory glance revealed that it was a weapon of some sort, given the trigger mechanism. However, there was no port to load thermal clips, instead featuring a square magazine on the underside, and a two headed eagle was stamped on the side of the gun. A jolt of pain coursed through his mind, driving the curiosity out, and with a shrug, he decided to drop his Mattock and keep the new weapon. Given how tough these Marines had proven themselves on Benning, Carl figured any additional firepower would be welcomed.
Looking around, he could see the others doing the same, and the Centurion sent a nod his direction. "Move out!" the Centurion bellowed before heading towards the exit.
As the squads made their way into the twisting, labyrinthine interior of the ship, Carl could not shake the sinking feeling that they were all marching into the depths of hell itself.
The command throne quivered and shook as the Duty lashed outwards with a spear of blindingly-white plasma. Davriel watched impassively as the strike sped through the void and plowed through one of the remaining Cerberus vessels, causing it to disappear in a rapidly-expanding cloud of debris and fire.
"Target destroyed Shipmaster," came the needless report from one of the orderlies. "Plasma projectors recharging, estimated time to firing is one minute. Void shields steady at fifty-five percent."
"Bring our portside macro-cannon batteries to bear on the Cerberus vessel thirty-six thousand meters away," he ordered in response. "Don't let them launch any more boarders. Carvan, status on those Cerberus fighters?"
"Thunderhawks Two and Three reporting that they've destroyed the majority of them, and are mopping up what little is left Shipmaster," Carvan said. "Counting twelve remaining. In addition, Thunderhawk One is one minute out, moving to assist."
"Tell them to press the assault. Once Thunderhawk One is back, have them shift over to taking out the smaller ships."
"Yes Shipmaster."
Davriel scowled as he returned his gaze towards the viewport. These Cerberus ships were pathetic, no match for the might of the Imperium, but there were still plenty of them to go around. A small pulse from the command throne alerted him that the starboard side thrusters had fired, bringing the Duty around to bear on the distant enemy ships.
"Sergeants Masro and Hensil, report. Status of the boarders?" he spoke into the vox built into the command throne. Beneath him, the Duty rumbled as it roared its fury at the distant Cerberus vessel, the massive shells tearing through it with contemptuous ease. The handful of transports that had managed to board the Duty through a mixture of sheer numbers and luck were now without a carrier to return to.
"Masro here. The group headed for the Warp drive has been eliminated. Brother Manswell is looping their vox communications. No sign that their elimination has been detected so far. Heading for the hangar."
"Hensil here. Hangar has been secured, and we are moving to intercept the group headed for the bridge. Stand by."
"Understood, Shipmaster out," Davriel said before closing the links, returning his attention to the battle raging in the void in time to see a report appear on the throne informing that the last of the Cerberus fighters had just been destroyed. A small smirk spread across his face at the news. As the plasma projectors roared to life and lanced outwards once more, destroying another pair of Cerberus ships, he was content in the fact that for the first time since coming to this dysfunctional universe, he was in command of the situation once more.
"In the name of the Emperor, finish them off!" he roared, his voice echoing throughout the command deck.
The deck rumbled beneath Carl's feet once more, an ominous signal that heralded another panicky report from the ship captains that dueled the metal behemoth whose halls they currently stalked, though he could not shake the feeling that it was they who they ones being stalked instead. Double headed eagles, the very same as the one on his appropriated weapon, glared down from their perches upon the thick metal walls, silently passing their condemnations of the intruders.
The Centurion snarled in frustration ahead of them. Carl understood his anger, feeling a smoldering ember of it welling up within him. All of their interior layout maps, based upon Alliance ship designs, had proven worse than useless not long after they had delved into the depths of the ship. Nothing made sense in here. Hallways randomly branched off into absolute blackness, the accumulated dust and filth stain the floors of such corridors showcasing a neglect that had lasted for years at the very least. Idly, as they passed through another junction, Carl wondered if he and his cohorts were the first to traverse this area since the ship's construction.
"Hold up," the Centurion said as he came to a sudden halt in the middle of a particularly long hallway. "Jameson, status report," he demanded into his comm unit.
Only static answered him, taunting all who heard it with its ceaseless cackle.
"Shit," said one of the troopers. Carl grunted in agreement, watching as the Centurion tried hailing the squads that had been left behind with the Kodiaks, only to be met with the same reply.
"Seman, take two men and head back for the hangar. It's possible that this ship is simply jamming communications," the Centurion ordered. "Make sure that we can pull back if we need to, then report in."
"Yes sir," he said, before motion towards the two troopers nearest to follow him back through the path that they had just traversed.
They had not gone far before the Centurion's voice broke through their comm channels, screaming in a mixture of pain, desperation, and fear. Before any of them could respond, however, the channel abruptly closed, leaving them alone once more.
"Now what?" one of the other troopers asked as he glanced around, his every motion betraying the mounting panic that he was undoubtedly feeling. Carl did not blame him, he felt the same as well, despite the surges of pain that his implants were sending out in a crude attempt to drown the cowardly emotion out.
"We go back," he grunted, hefting his stolen weapon as he turned around to face the corridor that they had just traversed.
"That's suicide," noted the other trooper mechanically, even as he turned as well. None of them were capable of disobeying their superiors, and at that point, Carl was their superior. They would follow him no matter what.
"Hangar's probably lost," Carl noted dispassionately as he began to run back towards where they had departed from the others. "We can either die alone in these corridors or have a chance fighting with the others."
The other troopers simply grunted in response, not wasting their breath with verbal acknowledgements, the sound of gunfire and screams growing louder with every step they took. Turning around a corner, they were greeted with the sight of a charnel house.
Massive figures clad in armor stalked the room, stout, fat-barreled guns bellowing as they massacred what few Cerberus troopers were still alive. Behind them stood more of the regular-sized humans that they had encountered in the hangar, which struck him as odd. Why were these ones not in their armor?
He pushed aside the thought as he ducked behind the corner, barely evading a pair of red bolts that slammed into the wall, where they sizzled angrily at having been denied their prey. Flicking what he had figured out to be the safety on his procured weapon, Carl and his fellow troopers poked around the corner and opened up on the giant figure that was barreling down upon them with terrifying speed.
The Mattocks utilized by the other troopers had a negligible effect upon the armor that the enemy soldier was wearing, while his weapon fared only slightly better. Carl could faintly see black scorch marks blossoming wherever his bolts of light struck, though the soldier seemed unfazed by his foe's best efforts to bring him down.
Time seemed to slow down for Carl as the soldier, not even bothering to stop, brought up a weapon from beneath which sprouted a small black canister that was denoted with a skull. A tiny flame below the muzzle of the gun winked and danced evilly, a seemingly innocuous sight that signaled impending doom for him and all his kind.
The sight of a rapidly-expanding cloud of flame belching forwards from the weapon was the last thing Carl Seman saw before his eyes liquefied in their sockets.
"Brother-Captain, the Cerberus fleet is nothing more than clouds of debris, and your Brothers are reporting that the Duty has been cleansed," came the report from the Shipmaster, barely audible over the sound of Epsilon Squad's concentrated heavy bolter fire scything through flesh, armor, and cover alike.
"Good," Nemros grunted as he changed his weapon's firing settings. Leaning out of cover, he curled his finger around the trigger, letting the gun whine for a short second before it let loose with a blindly white burst of plasma at one of the few remaining exoskeletons. He savored the sight of the superheated ball of gases slamming into one of the machine's legs, reducing it to slag and sending the entire thing tumbling over backwards.
He ducked back behind the shattered wall of the ruined storefront that he and his Brothers had chosen to fortify, a hail of shots chasing him back in. While Nemros knew that the weapons utilized by these peoples were ineffective against their armor, power armor still had its vulnerable spots in its joints. There was no sense in pushing their luck and risk being killed by an errant shot, after all. Such tactics were best left to Chapters like the Red Scorpions.
"Tell my Brothers that as soon as Theta Squadron reports that the ring is clear enough, they are to embark on the Thunderhawks and begin clearing Cerberus off of the station. Have Omicron Squad board one of the remaining vessels, then eliminate the other two at your discretion Shipmaster," he continued as he switched back to bolter rounds. He momentarily rued wasting his single plasma shot as he swapped his empty clip out for a new one, before leaning out again to catch one of the Cerberus troopers with a short burst. Even as the man exploded in a cloud of viscera from the detonation of the mass-reactive shells, there still remained dozens of his ilk out there, with more rushing to join them by the minute.
Clearly, the Illusive Man had been somewhat displeased by his show in the Councilor's office.
"Understood Captain, your orders have been relayed and the Duty is repositioning for boarding torpedo launch. Davriel out."
The click signifying the closing of the vox channel was oddly satisfying to Nemros. Now all that remained for him to do was wait and kill as many of these traitorous scum as he could.
Above the action, a figure waited, cloaked in the shadows cast by the Citadel's superstructure as he watched the carnage unfold below him.
Capture. That had been the order straight from the Illusive Man himself. Capture the one known as Brother-Captain Nemros for interrogation, and dispose of the rest. For once, he was inclined to carry out the order, given how he had watched the man act inside the Council Chambers. Sure, the traitor had aligned himself with aliens, and had proceeded to kill Councilor Udina, but the man had stood against the demands of those filthy creatures, and had refused to submit himself to their will. He could respect that. It was more than anyone else outside of Cerberus was doing these days.
If only for that reason, Kai Leng decided, he would capture this Nemros. A slow, excruciating interrogation under his watch would be the man's punishment and atonement for defying Cerberus' push for the advancement of humanity.
All he had to do was wait for the right moment to strike.