Good News, Everyone!
Chapters 1-9 have been successfully edited with the correct dates, along with a few other edits to improve the storytelling and dialogue.
Also, 493 reviews! 7 more and I hit the 500 mark! Considering this is a Halo fic, I'll take that as a good omen.
Anyway, enjoy.
...
0805 Hours, March 1st, 2683
Dock 422
Citadel
Widow System, Serpent Nebula
...
The Normandy arrived at the Citadel the next morning. Dock 422, same as before. In fact, the council had already made arrangements for this dock to be specially reserved for Master Chief and his ship. Apparently spectres really do get everything; even their own parking spaces.
However, there was a surprise waiting for the spartan at the dock. A surprise named Rear Admiral Mikhailovich of the 63rd Scout Flotilla. He knew that the Normandy would make berth at Dock 422, and so arranged a surprise inspection. Master Chief stepped aside and allowed the admiral to inspect the ship. Afterwards, Cortana tried to remind the Chief that, as a spectre, the spartan was technically no longer part of the Alliance chain of command and could've easily refused the inspection. But old habits die hard, and his military discipline simply wouldn't allow the spartan to say no to a rear admiral.
Master Chief stood on the dock outside the Normandy, the exact spot he was standing when Mikhailovich first appeared. Even after the admiral boarded the ship, Master Chief didn't dare move from his spot. Finally, after an agonizing half-hour, Chief could see Mikhailovich walking out of the airlock and down the loading bay towards the spartan. Chief straightened and stood at attention purely on instinct.
"Master Chief." Mikhailovich began. "I'm not happy."
"Sorry to hear that, sir." Chief replied.
"Where do I even begin..." He said as he shook his head. Chief saw this coming. Before boarding the Normandy to begin the inspection proper, the rear admiral made no secret of the fact that he loathed the ship for even existing, claiming it was a waste of money. While it was arguable that the money that went into building the Normandy could've been better spent on other projects, Master Chief wouldn't go so far as to call it a waste. The ship had served him well so far.
"First off, who designed that CIC?" Mikhailovich asked. "Putting the commanding officer aft of everyone else is inefficient. What if he needs to discuss with the operators towards the bow?"
Master Chief raised an eyebrow that was concealed by his visor. Was the admiral asking him? "I couldn't say, sir." Chief replied honestly. "I'm not the one who made that design choice. You'd have to take it up with those who did."
Mikhailovich grunted at that. "Moving on, I had to shake my head at that drive core." the rear admiral went on. "120 billion credits of element zero to make this thing able to move without giving itself away. You realize we could make drive cores for twelve thousand fighters with that money? What good is it to hide for a few hours anyway? Useless!"
Privately, Chief disagreed. A few hours of stealth may not seem like much, but in a high-intensity space battle where time seems to stand still, a few hours could mean the difference between victory and defeat. He didn't voice those opinions though. Chief knew better than to argue with a rear admiral.
"Again sir, not my choice. You'd have to take it up with the ships' original designers." Chief said in the most respectful tone possible. He was actually sincerely confused. Why would the rear admiral bother pointing out flaws in the ship that were so obviously beyond the spartan's control? His own opinions were likely coloring his inspection, but again, Chief knew better than to argue with a rear admiral.
Mikhailovich narrowed his eyes at the Chief. "Well then, Master Chief." he said, venom dripping off of every word. "Maybe we should address my third and final complaint which is, in fact, your choice. Your crew."
"My crew, sir?" Chief asked.
"The original Human crew, I've no issue with. They're all good at what they do, as far as I can tell." Mikhailovich said. "But a Sangheili? An Asari? Quarians? Krogan? Turians?"
He pointed an accusing finger at the spartan. "You're running a warship, Chief." he barked. "Not a god damn zoo! What are you thinking, allowing alien nationals free access to Alliance equipment?"
"Well sir, I wouldn't call them 'nationals.'" Chief began. "More like volunteers."
"Volunteers?" Mikhailovich asked as he folded his arms across his chest.
"Yes sir. They all volunteered for this mission, and I found their skill sets suitable for it. The Turian, Krogan and Sangheili are very capable in a fight. The Quarian's a good mechanic, and the Asari is an expert on Prothean Archaeology. Given the fact that Saren has thus far demonstrated an obvious interest in Prothean ruins, I believe that the Asari is most likely the most mission-critical out of all of them."
"You really believe that?" Mikhailovich asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes sir. They're all good at what they do, and none of them are security risks. I wouldn't tolerate them on my ship otherwise." Chief finished.
The rear admiral grunted. "I'll keep that in mind while I write my report to the Joint Military Council. Not that I expect them to do anything about it. Too many interest groups have too much money invested in this." He gave the spartan a crisp salute. "Master Chief." the spartan saluted back, and with that, the admiral walked towards the elevator that took him down to C-Sec Customs.
"Wow." Cortana commented. "What a Colonel Ackerson."
...
After Rear Admiral Mikhailovich's inspection was complete, shore leave for the Normandy's crew officially began. Chief didn't know when he'd have to leave the Citadel again. Could be the next day. Could be the next month. But Chief was willing to bet that they would stay in port for at least a few days, so the spartan figured that he might as well give the crew some time off while they were here.
However, while the rest of the crew will no doubt be off visiting bars and night clubs of various kinds throughout the wards, Chief had more important things to do. He figured his next move should be to head for the presidium, specifically Ambassador Udina's office, to get an update on any new information regarding the mission. There was likely none, but it couldn't hurt to check. It was the most preferable option anyway. Chief wasn't the bar-hopping type.
The elevator came to a stop and Chief walked out into C-Sec Academy. As usual, there were several dozen C-Sec officers, either standing guard near a specific spot or walking from one place to another, along with a few civilians that needed help with something and a few shady looking characters wearing restraints. Just like any other police station, really.
However, waiting for Chief not seven feet away from the elevator was a woman in one of those long, red, robe-like dresses that seemed so popular in this century. She had a dark skin tone and raven-black hair to match and a slightly aged face, late-thirties or early-forties if Chief had to guess. She had a thin frame which was flattered by the dress. However, the most eye-catching feature by far was the camera drone that hovered behind her.
"Master Chief?" she asked. She then extended a hand. "Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani. Westurland News."
"Oh dear sweet God, it's the media." Cortana said in mock-horror. "Run Chief. Run."
"Would you be willing to answer a few questions for our viewers?" She asked.
"I don't do interviews." the spartan nonchalantly said as he walked on past the woman. As he walked towards another elevator that he hoped would take him somewhere else, he noted a new light source behind him, which he recognized as the camera's light turning on. Apparently, the reporter wasn't the type to take no for an answer.
"Humans have been trying to get the respect of the galactic community for years. WIth that in mind, what are your feelings on being the first Human spectre?" Khalisa asked.
"No comment." Chief replied.
"Do you believe the claims of some Human interest groups that making you a spectre was just the council 'throwing Humanity a bone?'"
"No comment."
"Have you encountered any situations where the Citadel asked you to place its needs before the needs of Earth?"
"No comment." Chief finally arrived at an elevator and pressed a button. Now it was a painful waiting game.
"Do you think it was appropriate to hand Earth's most advanced warship over to the council?"
"No comment."
"Is it true you're tracking a rogue spectre?"
"No comment." At long last, salvation. The elevator arrived. The spartan stepped in.
"Is it true you're just a shill for the council?"
"No. Comment." Chief said with a tone of finality as he pressed the up button. The elevator door closed, taking the Chief up and away from the reporter, much to his relief.
...
"I heard about what happened on Therum." Udina told the spartan. "The council wasn't happy about the destruction of those Prothean ruins, nor was the Sangheili Empire. Need I remind you that we ALL get judged by how you behave?"
"Noted Ambassador. I'll try to minimize collateral damage in the future." Chief crisply replied. He was sighing with exasperation on the inside though. First a surprise inspection from an ass of an admiral, then a nosy reporter who did not know the meaning of the term 'I don't do interviews,' and now a blustery ambassador who apparently had nothing better to do than yell at people. Today was just one of those days, Chief supposed.
"This isn't a game, Ambassador." Anderson said, trying to defend the spartan. "Chief's out there trying to stop Saren from destroying the galaxy. I for one can live with a few busted up ruins."
Udina grunted. "Tell that to Ambassador 'Krovakr. After the destruction of those ruins, he stormed into my office demanding Master Chief's head. Literally." He turned to the spartan. "Good news is, I managed to calm him down by reminding him that you had avenged the deaths of the Sangheili warriors who were slain by the Geth and would not rest until Saren was brought to justice. So basically, I single-handedly prevented a second Human-Covenant War. You're Welcome."
He turned back to Anderson. "I just remembered I have some errands I need to run. Keep an eye on my office. And by that, I mean make sure Chief doesn't blow it up too." With that, he turned and left the office.
"He doesn't like me." Chief stated.
"Since when have soldiers and politicians ever seen eye-to-eye?" Anderson countered.
"Point taken." the spartan conceded.
"Don't mind him, Chief. He's just under a lot of stress." Anderson said, trying to make Udina not so big of an ass. In vain.
"I don't suppose the council has any new information on Saren?" Chief asked.
"Afraid not." Anderson replied.
Chief sighed. Great. Looks like he'd be stuck on the station for a while. "How've you been doing, Captain?"
"Honestly?" Anderson asked. "This isn't how I pictured my career coming to an end. Pushing papers really isn't my thing."
"I'm sorry to hear that, sir." Chief stated. "For what it's worth, I still think you should be the one in charge of the Normandy. Not me."
Anderson shook his head at that. "You're the one who can stop Saren. I believe in you, Chief. If that means I have to step aside, so be it."
The spartan nodded. Anderson had a point. Out of every Human in the galaxy, the Master Chief was the one best suited for a mission this important. Still, it didn't feel right, knowing this great man had to be left behind in order for Chief to lead this war.
Anderson sighed. "Besides...I had my chance a long time ago." The former captain turned around walked towards the balcony overlooking the Presidium. Chief followed him and stood next to him as he leaned against the railing. "You are the first Human spectre, Chief. But you're not the first Human to have tried out for the job." He took another deep breath before continuing. "That would be me."
Chief was a little taken aback by that. During a round of target practice during the trip back from Therum, Ashley let slip what the corrupt C-sec officer Harkin said about Captain Anderson last time they were on the Citadel. How he claimed that Anderson was the first Human spectre, not Master Chief. Chief immediately dismissed it as a drunk lech's sick idea of a joke. But apparently, there was actually a grain of truth to it.
"It's how I know Saren...It's how I know what kind of man he is." Anderson went on.
"You don't have to tell me if it makes you feel uncomfortable, sir." Chief said.
"No." Anderson replied. "This is a story you should hear. Hopefully, it'll give you a better idea of just what kind of person you're up against." He paused, recollecting his memories.
"It's close to twenty years now." Anderson began. "Then Ambassador Anita Goyle was our representative here on the Citadel. Like Udina, she wanted to get a Human into the spectres. She chose me. The Council sent Saren to keep an eye on me and evaluate my performance. Just like how they sent Nihlus to keep tabs on you. We had intel on a rogue scientist being funded by Batarian interests. He was trying to set up a facility to develop illegal AI tech out in the Skyllian Verge. Alliance intel had done all the work, but the council wanted a spectre involved. We compromised. I was assigned to help Saren in his investigation. We tracked the scientist to a refining facility on Camala. He was hidden away somewhere inside, protected by an army of Batarian mercenaries. The plan was simple: sneak into the plant, capture the scientist, sneak back out. Quick, quiet and a minimum of bloodshed."
"I take it things didn't go as planned?" Chief asked.
"No. They didn't." Anderson replied. "Saren and I split up to cover more ground. Then, about halfway through the mission, there was a massive explosion in the refinery core. Officially, it was ruled an accident. But I think Saren detonated it on purpose to draw off the enemy guards."
"Did it work?" Chief asked.
"It did. But at a price." Anderson answered. "The explosion tore the refinery to shreds. The whole place was on fire. Black chemical clouds poured out into the atmosphere. Nobody inside survived." He paused. "There was a camp for the workers and their families nearby. Between the fire and the toxic fumes, the final death count was over five hundred. Mostly civilians. Saren didn't care. The target was eliminated. Mission accomplished. And I ended up taking the blame, ending all talk of me joining the spectres."
"Saren was the one that caused the explosion." Chief said. "How'd he pin it on you?"
"In his report, Saren accused me of blowing his cover. He said it was my fault the guards were ready for us. He claimed that's why it turned into a massacre. Saren's report was all the proof the council needed to kill my chances of becoming a spectre." Anderson shook his head. "I had a bad feeling about him right from the start. I should've been more careful. Maybe I could've stopped things before they got out of hand."
"Wasn't your fault sir." Chief pointed out.
"No. It was Saren's." Anderson resolutely responded. "I think he wanted things to go bad. He was looking for an excuse to blow that refinery. Maybe he just likes the violence. Maybe he was just trying make me look bad to keep Humans out of the spectres. If so, he succeeded."
Anderson turned towards Chief. "We still don't know where Saren's hiding now. But we do know that he's still looking for the conduit, just like you are. If and when you and Saren cross paths, don't underestimate him. There's a reason he was the council's best spectre before going rogue."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir." Chief replied.
Anderson saluted the spartan, and the Chief saluted back in kind. "Dismissed." Anderson said. With that, Chief walked away from the balcony and left the office.
In the end, Anderson turned out to be right. The story of his failed attempt at joining the spectres did paint a better picture of what kind of enemy Saren was. All he really had to go on up until now were extranet rumors, which were not known for being reliable, though Anderson's story did confirm what those rumors claimed; Saren Arterius was far and away the most ruthless spectre working for the council. If he detonated a refinery, killing hundreds of innocent lives, just to eliminate one target, it was chilling to contemplate what else he might be capable of.
However, after a few more moments of contemplation, the Chief arrived at an even more chilling thought.
Blowing up a refinery sounded like something a spartan would do. Something the Chief would do.
He thought back to the warning Anderson just gave him; how Saren was someone the spartan shouldn't underestimate. He was starting to see why that was. While Chief was certain he outclassed Saren physically, it was possible that the playing field was more level from a purely intellectual and tactical standpoint. Much like the Chief, Saren was the kind of combatant who would employ unconventional and some would even say crazy tactics in order to win a fight. Chief had built a career out of doing the impossible and from the sounds of things, Saren did too. He wouldn't have been known as the council's best spectre otherwise.
But Chief knew that there were also important differences between him and Saren, the key one being motivation. Chief fought for his species and his species only. That's why he agreed to try out for the spectres, because he knew it would be good for the Alliance and would further their agenda. Saren was more selfish than that. He attacked Eden Prime not because the Turian Hierarchy ordered him to, but because he hated Humans. That's why he did what he did in that op with Anderson. He was willing to put his own personal agenda, keeping Humans out of the spectres, above his current mission, which was a despicable thing in the spartan's opinion.
Either that, or maybe Anderson's first suggestion was right: Saren enjoys the violence. He enjoys killing people. Chief isn't that sadistic. He can't honestly say he hates killing, but he can't honestly say he loves it either. It's just a job to him.
Chief and Saren may employ similar tactics, but that was all they had in common the spartan concluded. Chief would've stuck to the original stealth-oriented plan. It was more efficient and didn't involve the unnecessary deaths of civilians. He wouldn't have blown the refinery without considering other options, and certainly not to spite any species he was prejudiced against, not even the elites. Spartans aren't that selfish. Spartans aren't that sadistic. Blowing the refinery would've been a last resort only, if that.
Chief was a spectre now, just like Saren used to be. But Chief was a spartan long before he became a spectre. He wouldn't do the kind of things Saren did. He was trained better than that, and he knew it. That's what will keep him straight. That's what will keep him from abusing his power as a spectre.
Chief continued to walk through the presidium, up until a thought suddenly occurred to him.
While Chief's train of thought was on the subject of corrupt behavior and abuse of power...
He turned on his heels and marched back toward the embassies. He had a few words to share with a certain Asari diplomat...
...
The Embassy Lounge was predictably uptight and self-important in its atmosphere. Delegates of every species living in Citadel Space were sitting at round tables as they enjoyed their breakfasts and brunches, enjoying drinks of various kinds at the bar, and chatting up one another on some obscure political issue or other. After asking a bartender, just like he did on Therum, the Chief eventually found Asari Diplomat Nassana Dantius sitting at a table, alone.
"Chief!" Nassana excitedly said as she sprang up. "Did you find my sister?"
"Yes. And then I killed her." Chief promptly and coldly replied. He wasn't one for pleasantries or mind games. He wanted to cut right to the chase. "Mostly because she tried to kill me and my squad first. Apparently, she was a slaver who was using her own existence to blackmail you." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Funny. You didn't mention that before."
Nassana stood there for a moment. The spartan was expecting shock and denial, for Nassana to insist her lie was truth. Instead, however, she was actually quite calm, not giving off so much as a hint of fear or remorse. "So the truth comes out." She finally said as she sat back down. The Asari didn't sound surprised. No doubt she knew that the Chief finding out the truth at some point wasn't entirely unlikely. She most likely hoped that the spartan would find some Asari corpses in the back rooms of the merc base on Sharjila, or something else to suggest that he was too late to 'save' Dahlia, but wasn't exactly willing to bet money that that would be the case.
"I hope you are not angry." Nassana began in a professional tone. It was odd. It didn't sound malicious, but it didn't sound sincere either. "Surely you can understand why I lied to you. If people found out my sister was a criminal, I'd be considered a security risk. They'd revoke my clearance, or place me on administrative leave. That is why I misled you. I could not risk you exposing me. But now that Dahlia is out of the picture, it is no longer a problem."
"...You tricked me into being your hit man." Chief replied.
"You're a spectre, Master Chief." Nassana said. "When I said I trusted you get this done more than I trusted some common mercs, I was actually telling the truth." She activated her omni-tool. "I shall transfer a little something into your account as a token of my appreciation. I'm sure you will find the amount satisfactory."
"I don't want your blood money." Chief sternly replied. He was a soldier, not a bounty hunter.
"I do not like being in anyone's debt." Nassana said as she rolled her eyes. "Consider it a fee for doing your civic duty in the death of a dangerous slaver, if it makes you feel any better. Or give it away to some charity. I care not. The funds are already on their way. They are your problem now."
"Or I could just arrest you." Chief stated. "You DID break the law, after all."
"Actually, not really." Nassana said with a raised eyebrow. "The only law I could've possibly broken in this situation was actually putting money into Dahlia's account. Handing over money to illegal merc bands is against the law according to C-Sec. If anyone broke a law, it was you. You were the one who pulled the trigger, acting on no orders from any given authority whatsoever. Fortunately, as a spectre you can get away with that sort of thing. So really...nothing illegal at all happened between us." She smirked victoriously. "We're just a couple of law-abiding citizens, you and I."
Chief's fist clenched slightly in anger. "Besides, even if you could charge me with something, I have a well paid team of Kig-Yar lawyers who can jump through every loophole in the system and get me off with little more than a minor fine. I'm sorry, Master Chief. But the fact of the matter is, I'm virtually untouchable."
"You won't be forever." Chief said.
"Maybe." Nassana admitted. "But I will remain untouchable until the day you die. You know. Millennium-long life spans and all."
The politician leaned back in her chair and smirked. "Can't say I'm surprised by your deluded sense of honor and duty. All the first-year spectres are like that. They're the maidens of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. Young, inexperienced, wide-eyed, optimistic. They're the ones who have yet to see the ugliest side of the galaxy. The ones who have yet to realize that their naive ideals simply aren't compatible with the realities that come with the job. All spectres started out like that, even Saren Arterius."
"I am NOT like Saren." Chief harshly stated.
"Not yet. But give it time." Nassana continued. "You're by no means the first spectre I've contacted to take care of some...'loose ends' for me. And you certainly won't be the last. Just as this certainly won't be the last so-called 'dirty' odd job that you'll have to do to help fund other, more important missions."
The Asari paused to finish off the drink she was drinking. With a satisfied smirk, she set the glass aside. "Are we done here? I've an appointment in thirty minutes, and I do not wish to be late."
"...We're done here." Chief finally said. Nassana nodded and left the lounge. Chief stood there a moment, fuming, then checked his accounts on his omni-tool. Nassana was generous. His budget had just gone up by nearly 70,000 credits. Blood money or not, Chief couldn't ignore a number like that. The money would indeed go a long way in further funding the mission. The Normandy's armory already had plenty of weapons, weapon mods, and armor mods. But there was always room for more.
Perhaps Nassana was right. Perhaps Chief and Saren really did have more in common than Chief would like to admit.
"Hey. Don't worry." Cortana said in a reassuring voice. "She'll get hers."
"One day." Chief replied. Too bad that day likely wouldn't come in his lifetime.
"Oop. Incoming transmission from Caroline Grenado." Cortana reported. "Patching it through."
"Hey Chief." Carol's voice came. "Me and a few other engies and a few marines were about to hit this new bar that opened up on Kithoi Ward. Wanna come?"
On any other day, Chief likely would've refused that offer. Officially, the crew of the Normandy was on shore leave, so officially they were allowed to do such things. Chief didn't really see the point in it himself, since it had nothing to do with the mission.
However, after dealing with a biased rear admiral, a nosy reporter, an ungrateful ambassador and finally a deceitful diplomat...
"Sure." Chief replied. "I could use a stiff drink."
...
There was only one time in the Master Chief's whole life in which he consumed an alcoholic beverage. It was immediately after a space battle during the Human-Covenant War. As a UNSC fleet clashed with a Covenant fleet, Master Chief, along with Kelly-087, Linda-058, Fred-104, and Will-043, had managed to rally the beleaguered marines on board the Lucky Star to successfully repel a boarding attempt by a platoon of elites. After that, they hopped aboard a pelican and made a boarding attempt of their own, specifically on the Covenant fleet's flagship What Heresy Fears.
It was fairly simple, really. Fight your way to the bridge, kill the shipmaster, overload the engines, then get out of there. As per usual, the execution was nowhere near as simple as the concept, but in the end, the five SPARTAN-II's made it out just in the nick of time, flying away from the flagship's docking bay just before it exploded. The rest of the Covenant ships were quickly and efficiently cut down, ending in a certain, if narrow, victory for Humanity.
Captain Jenaveave Duboise of the Lucky Star was so grateful to the spartans for all that they had done, that she all but insisted on a toast of champagne to celebrate the victory, and that the spartans join her. No spartan drank alcohol, but their instinctive manners in the face of a superior officer kept them from refusing. That was the day Chief tasted champagne for the first time.
It tasted good enough, but it made him a little dizzy after a while. Now he knew why it was tradition to drink it after a victorious battle, not before one.
Over a hundred years later, at a bar in a noisy nightclub on an ancient space station far from what was once known as UNSC space, the bottles he saw on the wall across from the bar table were most assuredly NOT champagne.
Granted, there were a couple of bottles of champagne there. Along with a few bottles of whiskey, lager, vodka, sake, and plain old beer. Also on those walls however were drinks that, all together, could accurately represent the entire visual spectrum of the rainbow. Red, yellow, green, blue, purple, orange, name a color, you could order a drink that was in that color. With no dye necessary. It didn't help that the bartender, who was a Hanar, advised the Chief not to go for what he called a "dextro" drink. Only Turians, Quarians, and Mgalekgolo can consume these drinks. Anyone else is at a high risk for a fatal allergic reaction.
Chief went ahead and ordered a couple of glasses of champagne. It was the only drink he knew for certain he'd like. Yes, it would make him dizzy, but considering the day he's had, perhaps slight dizziness might not be so bad. Besides, it wasn't as though he'd be heading out on a mission any time soon.
The other Normandy servicemen were out on the dance floor, a few with some attractive civvies of the opposite sex, most likely hoping for a lucky night. Chief was simply content to stay near the bar and enjoy his drink. He honestly didn't see the appeal behind dancing. All that unnecessary movement accompanied with music that didn't even sound like music; more like a series of bloops and bleeps. Chief never thought he'd see the day where he missed Avery's Johnson's odd liking for flip music.
It was then that the Hanar placed a glass of pink liquid in front of the spartan. "Compliments of the Asari down the way." the jellyfish-like alien said as it pointed a tentacle down the bar. Chief looked and saw the Asari.
She was wearing what seemed to be a mini-skirt along with a halter top...and not much else. She had a drink in front of her, but rather than drinking it, she was tracing her finger along the rim of the glass. She stared at the spartan, and smiled. She winked at him.
Chief's first instinct was suspicion. But then it was quickly dismissed when he realized that this Asari, though not Human, was very clearly a civilian with no weapons on her. Unless of course she could somehow hide a pistol up her skirt. He looked back down at the drink. It was pink, which was a little off-puting to the spartan, but it was fizzy like champagne. He looked back to the Asari, only to find that she was gone. A quick scan around the room had revealed that she had gotten onto the dance floor and was gyrating her body in a manner oddly similar to that of a Human woman. He looked back down at the drink.
"Hey, a drink's a drink." Cortana said. "And a free drink at that."
Chief paused in apprehension. "Come on." Cortana insisted. "Live a little. What's the worst that could happen?"
Sighing in defeat, Chief poured the drink into his armor's liquid tanks and he began drinking it. Despite likely being an alien drink, it was oddly tasty, having a fruity flavor to it.
It was then that Chief thought he saw a shadow out the corner of his eye. He got up to investigate...
...Only to feel a little woozy. Odd. Doesn't alcohol take a while before you feel its effects?
He saw the shadow again. It looked like a Turian, and it was the only body standing still in the writhing sea of dancers. Chief could see its eyes leering right at him. The alien then turned on its heels and left.
Now THAT was suspicious.
"Looks like we might have trouble." Cortana said. "And we were on vacation, too. He probably left through here."
A blue arrow appeared on a back door. Chief nodded and walked towards it, finding himself slightly struggling to walk straight as he made his way through the crowd. The back door of the club lead to an abandoned alleyway.
The mystery Turian stood at the end of the alley, a gun in his hand pointed at the Chief.
On instinct, Chief drew his assault rifle and aimed. "Drop it!" he yelled.
It was at that point that the spartan's vision suddenly got blurry. One Turian suddenly became three as the edges of his vision began to darken.
A swift and hard smack to the back of the head finally sent the spartan tumbling into the realm of unconsciousness.
...
The Nerola Blossom is widely considered by many in the galaxy to be one of the most beautiful flowers ever to grow on the verdant Asari homeworld of Thessia. However, what many in the galaxy don't know is that, in addition to beauty, the Nerola Blossom has several practical purposes. These purposes include, but are not limited to, disinfectant, air freshener, cold medicine, aspirin, aphrodesiac, tranquilizer and drink flavoring.
The Asari mercenary Allana Ne'viri found the last two purposes to be particularly useful for kidnapping missions.
She came out of the club into the alley way to meet with the two thugs. They worked for the man who hired her to drug this freak of a Human. One was a Turian with a single black stripe running down the center of his face. The other was a Krogan, who had just knocked out the Human with his rifle butt. Guess the "Nerola Sleep Aid," as Allana affectionately called her potent brew, worked too slow for the massive reptile's liking. Can't say she was surprised. Krogan weren't known for their patience.
The Asari turned to the Turian. "Alright. I've got him. Now about my pay..." she trailed off. Goddess, she just wanted to collect the money and go home. The sooner she got out of this nightclub whore get up, the better.
The Turian stared at her for a few uncomfortable seconds. He then walked over to the air van they had parked further into the alley. The Krogan followed him, dragging the hulking Human by his feet, grumbling curses as he did so.
"Dammit." the Krogan growled. "How much does this Human weigh? A ton?"
"Only half a ton." The Turian said.
The Krogan snarled at him, apparently not appreciating the lip. "Heart better appreciate this..." he growled.
The Turian opened the back doors to the air van and the Krogan loaded the Human in. The Turian then reached in to grab a suitcase inside the van and handed to Allana.
"We thank you for your help with this, Ms. Ne'viri." the Turian politely said.
"Don't mention it." Ne'viri said as she greedily took a look inside to count the loot. "So...100,000 credits. This 'Master Chief' guy must be really important to have a price like that on his head."
"Yes. He is important." The Turian said icily. Ne'viri wisely decided to keep her mouth shut after that. She'd been in this business long enough to know the 'you're asking too many questions' tone when she heard it. She was curious, but given that she had just been given enough money to buy a few new air riders, she could live with the mystery.
Besides, she'd also been in this business long enough to know that there are some things you don't want to know.
The exchange complete, the Krogan and Turian climbed into the air van, which soared off onto parts unknown. Ne'viri closed the suitcase and set out to complete the final step of completing an exchange; get the hell out of dodge before the authorities come asking questions. She grabbed the case by the handle and stood up...
Only to see a Type-25 Directed Energy Rifle, the classic handheld plasma rifle, right up in her face.
"Tell me where the air van is going, Asari." The old Sangheili wielding the rifle growled threateningly. "And I may let you live."
...
21. Dammit. 1 over. What were the odds? Garrus really should've just cashed out at 17, but for one reason or other, he was feeling lucky and decided to roll one more time. He really should've known better. The Turian never did have much luck when it came Quasar.
He looked down at the small pile of chips that he had won thus far, which could be turned in for credits. He kept his foot on top of the pile the whole time to keep anyone from stealing it. His foot resembled a bird of prey's talons gently but firmly clutching its precious eggs. He hadn't won as much as he would've liked, but maybe he should turn them all in now before his luck turned worst. With a pent up sigh, the former C-Sec officer picked up the pile and turned them in.
Flux was currently the hottest new night club on Kithoi Ward, only opening just a few months ago. Garrus had been itching to come here for a while now, not so much for the dancing or loud music but rather the drinks and the gambling. Every C-Sec officer had their legal but questionable vices, and Garrus was no exception.
On his way out of the casino and the upper level, Garrus thought about getting one last drink on the way out. Tempting, but he decided against it. He'd need to be sober to find his way back to the Normandy, or Chief would leave him behind once they got a new mission. If Garrus was lucky. And after losing the last few rounds of Quasar, he didn't feel lucky.
Walking through the walkway that led from Flux to the Ward Markets, Garrus saw a lone figure loitering there, waiting for someone, most likely. He seemed to be wearing a long, brown robe of some kind, complete with a hood that left much of his face in shadow. However, given the height, the quad-jaws, and the way it constantly stood rigid and at attention, the figure was undoubtedly a Sangheili. Its head, which sat atop a long neck, craned toward the Turian.
"Garrus Vakarian." the figure said in a deep voice.
Garrus immediately turned towards the figure. "That IS your name, is it not?" the Sangheili pressed further.
Garrus paused to size up the Sangheili. He didn't see any weaponry on him, but that might've been what the robe was for, to conceal what weaponry he did have. Still, Garrus had a pistol, a shotgun, an assault rifle AND a sniper rifle, so at the very least, they'd be evenly matched.
"How do you know my name?" Garrus asked suspiciously.
"I am well-informed." the Sangheili replied. "Especially when it comes to the companion of a spartan."
That was a red alert in the Turian's mind. He whipped out his pistol and aimed it at the Sangheili's head. "What do you want with the Master Chief?" he demanded.
"To help him." The Sangheili replied. "For he requires it." the Sangheili slowly reached into his robe. Garrus thought it might be a weapon and moved closer. This inspired the elite to make slower, cautious movements, as he finally pulled out something; a datapad. "You may wish to listen to this." he said.
Garrus, not taking his gun off the Sangheili for a moment, took the datapad from him. The Turian's eyes briefly darted to the datapad. It was an audio recording. Garrus's eyes darted back to the Sangheili as he hit play.
Garrus heard voices. Voices he didn't recognize. Some words were a little hard to make out, but it sounded like a shady deal of some kind. However, one sentence really stuck out to the Turian.
"So...100,000 credits. This 'Master Chief' guy must be really important to have a price like that on his head."
Garrus blinked. Master Chief? That was the one the Krogan complained about, the Human that weighed a ton? The spartan had been kidnapped?
"Yes. He is important." The Turian voice replied. Garrus could tell from his tone that he was politely telling the Asari to mind her own business. She wisely decided to shut up after that.
A few moments of silence. Then, Garrus heard the sounds of running footsteps followed by a plasma weapon warming up.
"Tell me where the air van is going, Asari." The cloaked Sangheili's voice came on the recording. "And I may let you live."
"I don't know!" the Asari replied. "That's not my department! I just picked up and delivered the package!"
"Then you are useless to me..."
"WAIT! I heard one of them mention a name...Heart! They work for somebody named Heart! That's probably the guy who signs their pay checks! That's all I know, I swear!"
"...You have served your purpose. The galaxy will no longer suffer you, filth."
"What are you - WAIT!"
The recording ended with the sound of the plasma weapon firing.
"I think we both know who was the most likely to order the Chief's capture." the mysterious Sangheili stated.
It didn't Garrus long to come up with a prime suspect. "Saren..." the Turian growled.
"Indeed." the stranger said with a nod. "Why his men took the Chief instead of outright killing him, I cannot say. But whatever he wants with the Chief, it can bode only ill for the galaxy. It is imperative that we find him."
The stranger activated his omni-tool which, oddly enough, appeared just fine even above his cloaked sleeve. "I ran a background check on this 'Heart.' It's a fairly uncommon name and I suspected that finding him would not be difficult. I was right. There is a warehouse registered in the name of a 'Dr. Heart' not far from here. I've little doubt the Master Chief was taken there."
Dr. Heart. That was the alias that Dr. Saleon, the twisted Salarian genetecist took on before Garrus lost track of him on Korlus. He'd been wanting to bring Saleon to justice for a while now...which made him suspicious. This seemed a little too well-tailored for the Turian.
"Why me?" Garrus asked.
"Because the warehouse is very close to here. You are the only one of the Chief's companions in this entire ward, and I'm afraid we can not wait for any of his other companions to come. Time is of the essence." the Sangheili explained.
"...If I found out you're lying to me, don't think I won't put a round in your skull." Garrus threatened.
Oddly enough, the stranger's jaws formed into the Sangheili equivalent of a smile. "I would expect no less." he said in an almost approving manner. "Come. We must go."
...
Dun Dun DUUUUUUNNNNNN!
Also, yeah. I decided to make it so that Mgalekgolo were Dextro-eaters like the Turians and Quarians in this universe because, eh, why not